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“You growl when you are frustrated or trying to restrain your anger. You growl when you want to be heard. You speak with distinction when you want to bereallyheard. You don’t laugh out loud often, but you have this belly laugh that tickles anyone who hears it and makes them laugh, too.”
The temptation of his chest was too much, her fingers inches away from discovering the contours of muscles. She gulped, lingering on his throat. She went back up, palms spreading across his cheeks, fingers extending over his eyes and ears.
“These eyes see everything, and you take care of everyone in need, including me. These ears…they are not as sharp as mine, but somehow, they know things, too, and you just take care of things and already have the answers. So, what I’m trying to say is…I know this face. I memorize what every feature of this face can do.”
“Including my tongue?”
She froze, every other word she intended to say wiped clean from her mind.
“What can your tongue do?”
Silence followed her query. Then his voice came, barely a whisper, as if he was layering secrets into the air meant only for them.
“It can be the sharpest tool there is. It can reveal information to make or break you. It can whisper the dirtiest things. It knows a lot of wicked things.”
Her chest tightened and her body throbbed, a reaction that no longer felt foreign to her. But this closeness was, and the hushed confession was. Unbidden, her finger traveled down, swirling over his upper lip this time. It stayed there for the longest moment…and then, she felt the tip of his tongue flick out—either to wet his lips or to deliberately brush against her skin, but it did the latter. Her senses caught it and her thumb moved, reaching to touch the tip again.
Fireworks blossomed from thin air, encumbering her body with hot and cold flashes that threatened to destroy her. His chest heaved, and his inhalations turned sharp.
“What kind of wicked things?”
“It depends on what the other party wants.”
Was this still platonic? Was it appropriate to touch him like this? Would he have reacted this way, too, if Sona had been bold enough to touch him? The mystery lay heavy in her soul, blanketing the hope that wanted to rise.
“So, lies to ensnare a culprit, am I right? Or is it something else?”
Please say no. Tell me what I want to hear. Tell me those dirty things are for me.
“I…yes. Sometimes.” There was a thoughtful pause. “It becomes part of the dance. Or the job, whichever it is needed for. So, yes. What I’m trying to say is…my tongue has its uses, too. I just wanted you to know.”
The disappointment was stark, dropping stones down her belly until it felt heavy. The conversation was so confusing that she wanted to hurl it somewhere dark, but it ended there as Charlie’s body settled closer into her and his forehead rested against hers. He didn’t protest when she removed her hand. The negative feeling didn’t last as comfort hummed, the same one he always dished out whenever he stayed.
He stayed tonight—not with Sona and not with the others, but with her. He sought her, even if it wasn’t the kind of seeking she wanted.
And that was enough for now.
Something touched the back of her mind: a tick, or maybe it was a tap. Whatever it was, it woke her up from her deep, satisfying slumber as she faced the darkness and tried to figure it out. Her body didn’t warn her of danger…but maybe that was just Charlie sprawled against her, sleeping just as deeply and shutting off whatever warning bells were supposed to ring.
Not wanting to wake him up and alert the others any more than was necessary, she basked in his embrace for a few seconds before quietly extricating herself from it. Outside the pocket, the world was quiet except for the occasional exhales. No snores. She wandered to the tunnel and heard the snoring at the edge, where she deduced Oscar was perched.
“Oscar?”
He didn’t respond, but a gentle touch of his neck indicated that he was just fast asleep. She heard nothing else, but the tapping…it went on, persistent enough to keep her feet moving. Her hand went to the wall, always memorizing her steps despite allowing the tapping to lead her further. At one point, it grew dull and had her pausing.
What are you? Where are you?
Voices. She was hearing voices now not related to the tapping, forming into familiar ones. On instinct, her magic coursed out and wrapped her in invisibility.
“You should stop stalking me, you know.”
“I wasn’t stalking you. I was making sure you didn’t get lost.”
Riva scoffed. “Why? Because I don’t look like I can handle the tunnels?”
“Because we don’t know what’s out here and I don’t want to have to save you again.”
Was it Daria’s imagination, or did she hear something else besides the frustration in Diego’s voice?
